Help the sorry person who reads this
by Designation
Summary: Morbid hilarity with serious bashing and a little language.


Title: Help the sorry person who reads this.  
  
Disclaimer: Dark Angel and it's characters do not belong to me, I only write about them.  
  
Author's Note: Takes place before White trashes Logan's apartment. I am choosing to  
completely ignore the virus.  
  
Warning: Morbidness, character death, and Asha and Logan bashing follow. Also, sick humor  
follows.  
  
And don't mind if half of my sentences begin with and.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't like Asha, but I have nothing against Logan. I may like Alec a hell of a  
lot more, but that's beside the point. By writing this fic, I meant no offense. This is just for fun.  
  
Today's Motto: All in good (or in this case bad) humor.  
  
In other words, don't shoot me. Or flame me, because that is worse than being shot. I think.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Asha grows on you.  
  
Like a blister . . .  
or a wart . . .  
or a nasty, painful bump on the head . . .  
or like a sixth toe (deformed on it's own). . . .  
You know . . .  
You just wanna chop it off . . .  
and HACK IT INTO LITTLE BLOODY BITS WITH A RUSTED MACHETE AND BOIL IT  
IN OIL WITH A FEW POISONOUS SNAKES AND FEED IT TO ALEC . . .  
No. Scratch that.  
. . . FEED IT TO WHITE AND HIS FELLOW PSYCHO BREEDING CULT LOONIES . . .  
Wait, no. Even they don't deserve such torture-"  
  
"MAX!"  
  
"Yes?" Max questions innocently, looking away from Logan's window and back at Logan, who  
stands behind her in his living room.  
  
"You're gonna give our viewers/readers nightmares!" he yells at her. "And why are you thinking  
out loud *here*? Everyone knows you only do that at the space needle, and maybe on your  
motorcycle. Plus you only do it when no one else is around!"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," Max says quietly, look down at her shoes.  
  
"But Max, these important, life-threatening issues cannot be left undiscussed!" Logan protests.   
"And since Unoriginal Sandy is on vacation, and Alec, in my opinion, is a dumb-a$$ and cannot  
shut up long enough to listen to you, you have to talk to me!"  
  
"Original Cindy," Max corrects, looking back up at him. "Can we please not get into this now  
that nothing is stopping us from us from doing so?" She pouts.  
  
And without hesitation, Logan drops the matter, for he could never resist those beautiful, full  
lips. "How 'bout I just make out with you?" Logan asks, still entranced by Max's bottom lip,  
which sticks out several inches from her face.  
  
"What?" Max manages to ask without moving her lips. From being in that position so much  
throughout her life, her face had stuck that way.  
  
Logan's eyes widen at his blunder. -Right, we aren't and were never LIKE that!- he thinks.   
"Uh . . . uh . . . how 'bout I just take out . . . no, uh, how 'bout I just take *you* out to dinner?"  
  
"But Logan, you cook! Why go out?"  
  
"Right, we'll just heat things up here." Damn, she's still pouting. "Uh, eat things up . . . uh . .  
.up here in my penthouse apartment.!"  
  
Suddenly, Alec appears on the couch from out of nowhere, laughing his butt off at Logan's  
antics.  
  
There are three loud thuds coming from under Logan's floor, also suddenly.  
  
Alec stops laughing and stands abruptly. "Look what you two have done!" he yells. "With all  
your incessant chatter, you've disturbed the neighbors!"  
  
Logan raised his hand to his mouth, looking utterly appalled. Max kneels to the floor, kissing it  
repeatedly with her bottom lip and whispering apologies over and over.  
  
"Neighbors?" Logan questions. "In all my years living here, I have never seen any neighbors! Or  
other apartments! Or other floors! And yet the parking garage is always full, and I live on the  
top floor of a very tall building! It is intriguing."  
  
Alec simply raises and eyebrow at him.  
  
"And also, in the future when White will trash this very room, not one of my absent neighbors  
sees him or hears the many, many gunshots he delivers to my every possession!"  
  
"Uh, Logan?" Alec puts in. "What you just said made no sense at all. You apparently *have* no  
neighbors, so how can you have *absent* neighbors? And if they're absent, then they can't see or  
hear anything anyway."  
  
"Stop correcting everything I say!" Logan yells viciously. "And stop looking so much hotter than  
I while you're not doing it!"  
  
"Uh . . . Logan . . ." Alec began.  
  
"Arrrggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Logan screams and charges toward Alec. Alec, however, in all his  
strength, does not budge when Logan slams into him, and therefore Logan falls backward,  
conveniently tripping over Max, who is still kissing the floor with her bottom lip. Logan chooses  
not to hear her mutterings about the cleanliness of said floor, and with an incredibly comical look  
of surprise on his face, Logan falls out the window. "Why Max?" he yells as he falls. "WHY  
NOT THE SPACE NEEDLE?"  
  
"Yeah Max, why not the space needle?" Alec asks.  
  
"Eh," Max says, standing up and shrugging. "Got tired of it." And her pout transforms into a  
smile, because of the hilarity of Logan's comical demise.  
  
"Hey Max?" Alec asks. "Wanna go out with me for real, now that Logan is out of the picture?"  
  
"Out of the window, Alec," Max corrects. "Well, you're hot, strong, smart, and all other things  
good, but not goody-two-shoes, as you still participate in thievery, which is my favourite pass-  
time, besides riding my motorcycle, which you also do at times, with both mine and your own  
motorcycle. . . . Sure, why not."  
  
And the happy couple kisses as the curtains fall.  
  
VOICE OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN: And Max and Alec lived happily ever after in their beautiful  
new penthouse apartment that they got from an 'old friend.' Or 'older friend' as the case may be.  
  
And as for White, he tripped on Logan's corpse (complete with comical look on face) and got hit  
by a Doritos truck, which, unfortunately for White, bumped into the back of an ice cream truck  
(yes, they still have those in post-pulse Seattle), crushing him in between. The b@$t@rd died.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Don't mind any errors in plot and little details and such. It's called . . . d@mn, I forgot what I  
was gonna say . . . Oh yeah. It's called exaggeration and a bad memory.  
  
Mmm . . . Doritos and ice cream . . . not together . . .  
  
Review please! And if you like Logan or Asha, don't hate me, remember, this was just for fun! 


End file.
